


arrêter , respirer.

by bee_kind



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol/Drug Abuse, PTSD, Past Non-Con, Platonic Stucky, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, mentions of:, more to be added later - Freeform, platonic! Steve and Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-02-15 07:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2219958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bee_kind/pseuds/bee_kind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freedom was not suddenly thrust upon her.<br/>It was a thing left near her,<br/>dangled<br/>and kept just out of reach for years.<br/>She recognized it and knew it’s name,<br/>but when it was finally given, she didn’t<br/>know how to take it.</p><p> </p><p>So she moved slowly.</p><p>________________</p><p>DISCONTINUED AS OF 05/16</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. switch.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She didn't know how to take freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I assume that there are probably more than just a few people in the world Hydra wanted done away with, and those tasks couldn't be handled by one man alone. Also, they probably wouldn't get the whole mind-wiping, human-machine thing right on the first go, and so a test subject was needed. Margeaux was a mutant who's ability to seemingly regenerate her body from the brink of death made her a perfect test subject. Hydra had already been scouting her for some time when her home town was bombed and she alone survived. The chaos made it easy for them to snatch her and begin tests almost a full year before they obtained the man who would become the Winter Soldier.
> 
> This first chapter is written in a weird style to kinda portray how disjointed and fleeting her thoughts are. The more she wakes up, the more coherent her thoughts will become.

 

Freedom was not suddenly thrust upon her.  
It was a thing left near her,

                  dangled

and kept just out of reach for years.  
She recognized it and knew it’s name,  
but when it was finally given, she didn’t  
know how to take it.

  
So she moved slowly.

  
She couldn’t remember the day it happened,

  
-she barely remembered any days,  
except the ones they let her-

  
but there was something different  
about the man who came this time.  
He did not work immediately,   
reviewing her memories of missions,

  
-she kept her memories of missions.   
They liked her to learn-

  
he did not caress.

-God she hated their touch.   
Hated the missions where they made her.  
Overandoverandoverandoverandoverand-

  
He stood still  
and she counted her heartbeats  
one by one

  
  
one

    by

         

         one,  
  
 _Wake Up._

  
She never quite knew what was happening.   
The information phased   
in                          and                            out   
of her mind like tides,   
but the orders were always there,   
wired into her subconscious as if they  
were original thought.    
  
What was original thought?  
Had she ever had one?

Her thoughts

  
-When she was allowed to have them-

  
Were jumbled and incoherent.   
She knew what she needed to know.

  
The man in the corner is absolute.   
Do not disobey him.  
The Rumlow is always here too,  
but he can be ignored if the absolute wills it.  
The man in the white coat brings pain and has needles.  
The man in the corner is absolute.  
The two by the door work for the   
man in the corner is absolute.  
The others are non-essential,  
but the man in the corner is absolute.  
The man in the corner is absolute.  
The man in the corner is absolute.

  
  
His name was Pierce.  
She knew the names of lots of things.

Glock.  
Poison.  
Target.  
Natasha.  
Red Room.  
Cell.  
Hydra.  
Knife.  
Non-Essential.

  
 _Margeaux._

What is Margeaux?  
  
There was something in the jumble,   
rising to the surface. She mumbled,   
and grew still. The one with the needle  
didn’t like when she mumbled. A dull   
memory of burning pain filtered to the  
surface and then was lost.  
  
Her name was Ciguë.  
  
Ciguë, Boligolov, Hemlock.

  
Hemlock.

 _-highly poisonous perennial herbaceous_   
_flowering plants in the family Apiaceae,_   
_native to Europe and the Mediterranean_   
_region-_

_You need to wake up._   
  
What was there for her to wake up to?  
They never asked, just sent shocks up  
the wires in her body. Electric snakes.  
  
Electric Lights.

There had been electric lights in a house in Saint-Nazaire owned by Mr. Baptiste and his wife children of immigrants from Ethiopia second generation French their daughter was born in Paris France and she was _happy_ and she was _happy_ and she was _happy_ and she was _happy_ and she was-

Not Hemlock.

What was happy?

They hadn’t allowed her to have…  
 _emotions_.  

_Emotions make people sloppy._  
Pierce said.  

She hardly saw why that was relevant.  
She wasn’t a person.  
She was a thing.

What thing, was the question.

The words began to filter to the surface again.

Assassin.  
Asset.  
La Ciguë  
Boligolov.  
Experiment.  
Funder.  
 _Homo-Superior  
._...monster?

A client had called her that once.  
A monster.  
It had been in approval.  
She’d just dispatched thirty…  
Thirty whats? She couldn’t remember  
If they’d been soldiers,  
Hired Guns,  
Servants,  
or By-standers  
....did it matter?  
The thirty were dead,  
and he said-  
she was a monster.  
Thirty dead in Thirty seconds.

   “Wake up, now.”

Was she imagining voices again?  
They didn’t ever talk to her unless  
she’d done something sub-par.  
That was after the mission review,  
and before the pain.  
The pain wasn’t  a punishment.   
It was a constant.

Why hadn’t they started hurting her yet?  
Surely the time had since come and gone.  
  
  
“Eyes open.”

It was an order, but not from the absolute.  
The voice was different.   
Warmer.   
Familiar?

_-Who will campaign door-to-door for America,_   
_Carry the flag shore to shore for America,_   
_From Hoboken to Spokane,_   
_The Star Spangled Man with a Plan!-_

Crackled voices,  
Cranking out over a cheap radio.  
Smiles and warm eyes.

 _Il va nous sauver,_   
_Margie, vous verrez._   
_Personne ne peut battre_   
_Captain America!_

Dark brown eyes staring out   
of a brown face split wide open  
by a smile. A younger brother.  
A dead younger brother.

There had been bombs   
screaming through the air,  
lighting up midnight like noon.   
He hadn’t saved them.  
They were dead.   
All of them.  
A mother.  
A father.  
A son,  
and a house   
with electric lights.  
All gone, now. Burnt.

But not the daughter.  
She lived.  
The Margeaux lived  
and Hydra pulled her out of the rubble.

No.  
Hydra pulled _Hemlock_   
out of the rubble, not Margeaux.

What _is_ Margeaux?

“Wake Up!”  
  
Amber eyes snapped open   
and locked on blue ones.   
Too close.  
Far too close.   
There were only ever two  
courses of action,  
there were only ever two:  
Protect or Eliminate.

The absolute man   
had taught her  
which was which.

 _Protect goods._   
_Eliminate people._

This man was a person,  
So he had to be eliminated.

 ****  
****

_-when you eliminate the impossible,_   
_whatever remains,_   
_however improbable,_   
_must be the truth-_

What was the truth?  
Hydra had…  
They’d distorted her view of truth.  
Made her trust only them.

“Can you see me?”

Hazy thoughts tripped over  
the surface of her consciousness.  
He waved a hand over her eyes.  
She gave a small nod.  
Affirmative.  
Target or Contact?  
She waited for orders to   
come flooding in. They didn’t.

“Can you understand me?”

  
A question that required an answer.  
She issued him another slow nod.  
She felt him disconnect the wires   
from her body,   
and the drips   
from her veins.  
Felt him pry open the clamps  
on her wrists and ankles.  
He was strong.   
She’d tried to break the shackles,  
but had given up after…

had given up after…

had given up after…  
How long had it been?

Her mind struggled sluggishly  
to find some semblance of time,  
something to latch on to  
And came up empty.

“Don’t be afraid-”

She didn’t feel fear.

“I’m gonna get you out.”  
  
  


He leaned over her,   
and the proximity smothered her.

  
Target or Contact

Target’s usually asked first.  
Contacts took what they wanted as payment.

-overandoverandoverandoverand-

She lifted weak arms,   
barred them over her chest.   
Like a crucifix someone had worn  
Someone…

It hadn’t protected them, either.  
She had no choice either way.

-overandoverandoverandoverand-

What was crucifix?

The word picked at the edge of her mind,  
even as the man’s body moved closer.

_-Je vous salue,_   
_Marie, pleine de grâce._   
_Le Seigneur est avec vous-_

__

_Margeaux._

Human beings did not touch monsters.  
They shouldn’t. Hemlock let out a strangled cry  
as his arms wrapped around her, too close.  
Much too close. She curled into herself,  
half afraid she would burn him  
half afraid he’d make her remove her armor.  
  


“Come on, we’ve gotta go.”

He was...taking her?  
It wasn’t unusual.   
Occasionally Hydra’s enemies   
would take things in order to…  
Why did they take them?  
She’d never needed to   
understand the inner workings of    
Hydra, so she didn’t.

 _You’re a tool._  
Pierce had said,  
when she’d been strapped in for a punishment.  
She’d failed to meet all of her mission’s objectives,  
But she was too expensive to kill.    
So they shot fire up her veins instead.  
 _Not a person._

The room was empty.

The realization floated through   
her mind slowly, coming late.

_The room was empty._

No Rumlow.  
No non-essentials.  
No men with needles  
and machines  
and directives  
and instructions.  
No absolute man.

No one except the one holding her.

Her head lolled back as   
he moved away from the bay  
where she’d been strapped  
down. Eyes focused on the   
face of her taker.

-she couldn’t very well call him a kidnapper.  
Kidnappers only took humans, not monsters-

 

What was a monster?  
Was _she_ a monster?

The blonde man draped something over her.   
Something warm. Something soft.  
He moved toward the iron-barred door  
and she started, tried to tell him   
she couldn’t go there,   
she could _never_ go there,  
but he pushed through  
and she waited for the pain.

For the electric snakes.  
For the fire in her veins.

It didn’t come.

The man took one step into the corridor.  
Then another.  
And yet pain didn’t strike.

The lights in the hall were bright,  
unnaturally so, bare bulbs buzzing   
in the the ceiling. It was quiet.  
The two men who stood at her door   
were sprawled on the cold tile, eyes  
shut to the blonde man and the weapon  
in his arms.

She could wake them.  
Set them on this man  
like she’d been set on targets.  
But she wouldn’t.  
At the moment, he was the   
lesser of two evils.  
She’d shed her armor

-overandoverandoverandover-

for a chance to get   
out of this place.

He carried her forward,  
tucked like a child in his arms.

She’d never seen a child.  
Or didn’t remember.

He carried her through  
corridor after corridor of steel doors and bulbs  
casting sharp yellow light onto  
linoleum floors. Once or twice,  
she heard boots tramping on  
the floors above and she tensed.

He moved faster.  
Arms wrapped tighter around her.  
The bars of a cage holding her hummingbird heartbeat.

If they caught him,   
she was dead.  
Was this a test?

“We’re almost out, I promise.  
It’s just a bit further.”

The man was explaining himself to her.  
She didn’t know why.   
Maybe, if this was a test,  
he was speaking to someone   
through his commslink.  
Up ahead, she could see a staircase  
And a door with light shining beneath it.  
Soft light. This was her last chance.

She couldn’t fail.  
She didn’t want to feel that pain again.

Excrutiating.  
Never-ending.

The asset tried to lift her head,  
but was too weak. Weak from…  
Starvation. How long had it been  
since they’d fed her?

One Week?  
Two?

The blonde man cradled her close   
and started on the stairs,  
taking them two at a time.

Hemlock let her eyes drift shut   
as he kicked open the door   
and warm sunlight graced her skin  
for the first time in months.

She was weak.  
And she was being repossessed.  
But she was out of that building.

_Dieu merci,_   
_elle était hors_   
_de ce bâtiment._

If she was to fail  
this test, and die,  
she'd die with the   
sun on her face.  
  


 

  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  


****  
  
  
  


****  
  



	2. out from gommorrah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He ran her across   
> some black expanse  
> of rock. Feet pounding.  
>  “We’ve only got a few minutes…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the second chapter of A,R. Sorry it took so long, y'all. Thanks for the kudos and bookmarks!

He ran her across   
some black expanse  
of rock. Feet pounding.

“We’ve only got a few minutes…”

He spoke quickly, panting   
from the effort of carrying   
her and sprinting at top speed.

A few minutes until   
she was killed?   
No…

You killed people.   
You _slew_ monsters,  
and you shut off tools.

“...before they notice you’re gone.”

She didn’t understand.  
Why was he prolonging  
her decommissioning?  
This blonde man  
that she swore she knew  
was strange.

_You don’t know him._   
_You can’t possibly know him._

There had been nothing before Hydra.  
Just darkness and smoldering heat.  
They’d freed her from it,  
saved her,  
remade her.  
Told her she was going to help save the world,  
their perfect machine.

But she couldn’t do it alone.

There had been another,  
... hadn’t there?

They’d sent her to the mountains,  
a test, they said.  
Retrieve the man,  
and bring him back here.  
It had been cold.  
She knew what cold was,  
could see her breath on the wind,  
but she didn’t freeze.  
There had been wires…  
Stuck into her spine,   
Plugged into the base of her neck.

She found him in a ravine:  
half frozen,   
one arm blue and twisted,  
the other shattered.  
All of him was shattered.

Mind and Body.

48 hours, they’d said.  
That’s how long it took them to find him.  
48 hours and eight inches of snow.  
She would’ve missed him,   
had she not seen his metal buttons  
glinting in the fading sun.  
His lips were blue.   
Bluer than his arm, and stiff.  
Not quite dead, but awfully close.  
Awfully close.

_Revive Him._

The orders had flown  
into her head almost instantly.  
She obeyed,  
thinking that this voice,  
whoever it was,  
was her God.

_Revive Him._

It spoke again  
and sent a jolt of pain  
to get her moving.

_Revive Him._

She’d dug him out   
with bare hands,  
frost biting at her,  
unaware she couldn’t feel it.  
She’d hauled his head into her lap  
and forced breath into his body.

The memory beyond   
that was a blur,  
as was the face of the frozen man.  
She didn’t know if she’d succeeded.  
Probably.  
She was still alive, after all.

Alarms blared and she started,   
clutching the blonde man.

He sped onward, whispering  
curses under his breath.  
  
Hemlock exhaled slowly.  
She supposed he’d execute her now.

_-walk forward,_   
_eyes straight ahead,_   
_hands on your neck._   
_Ten Paces,_   
_Count them:_   
_one,_   
_two,_   
_three,_   
_four,_   
_SHOT-_

She knew how executions went.  
Memories of a cold gun  
and a whimpering man-  
no, men-  
no, people.  
Dozens  
upon  
dozens.  
Thirty dead in   
Thirty seconds.

_Monster._

If the blonde man knew,  
he’d do it here, in full view  
of her handlers and the absolute man.  
Let him know what they were losing.  
She curled tighter, eyes closing.  
A brief flash of pain,  
and then freedom.

The blond man lowered her  
and-

...placed her in a seat?  
Buckled her into a seatbelt?  
Tucked his jacket around her?

The girl frowned, eyeing the car.  
Where were they going?  
To the woods?  
She felt the need to inform him   
that this was the wrong way  
to go about an execution.  
He didn’t even seem to have a gun on him.  
The blonde man ran around  
to the other side of the car,  
and hopped in, keys shoved  
into the engine hastily, nervously.

“I’m gonna get you out of here.”

There were those words again.  
What did he mean?  
He’d already taken her   
out of the building,   
the only thing left to do was…

_-one,_   
_two,_   
_three,_   
_four,_   
_SHOT-_

Why was he dragging this out?  
He slammed on the gas  
and the car skittered up   
a dirt incline, and into the forest.  
  
There was something eating   
at the pit of her stomach.   
Some deep fear she couldn’t…

No.

She didn’t feel fear.

The blonde man’s eyes were locked  
on the weather-beaten dirt path ahead.  
His jaw was clenched tightly,   
only one hand on the wheel,   
the other inching toward-

A pistol.

Her stomach bottomed out,  
and she lifted her chin.  
It wouldn’t do to appear weak.  
Her handlers wouldn’t have stood for it.

The blonde man lay the gun in his lap.  
It was a simple pistol, only basic functions,  
but enough to get the job done,  
enough to...

Her heart skipped a beat.

Would it...hurt?  
Hurt was a foreign deity to her.  
A god known and respected,  
but unwitnessed. Unworshipped.  
Up until this point, the threat of it  
had not hung over her head   
so much as existed   
on the edges of her mind.  
But now, it had taken up residence,  
demanded to be noticed.  
She did not get hurt.   
But she did feel pain.  
Pain was a tool.  
Like her.

The blonde man pulled a sharp right,  
And the tired of his vehicle squealed.  
Alarms had begun blaring behind them,  
howling that their prodigal daughter be returned.  
She could hear others…

So loud,  
too loud,  
loud like shrieking,  
like bombs screaming from the sky,  
like buildings crashing  down

down

down on…

Margeaux?  
Yes, on Margeaux.   
Down on Margeaux and being lifted off of…  
Hemlock.

Had she slain Margeaux?  
And been trapped in the wreckage?  
No...she’d never been her target.  
Margeaux had been…

What _was_ Margeaux?

The thought drifted   
as the blonde man   
gripped the cold steel  
of the pistol.

He wasn’t slowing down.  
why wasn’t he slowing down?

The sharp crack of wood  
splintering with gunshots  
answered her question.

She buried her face   
in her hands and  
tried to slow  
her  h E a R t B e A t.  
It was thudding   
out of her chest,  
louder than any  
cannon fire.

She’d never heard cannon fire.

Had she?

She couldn’t remember.

The blonde man cursed,  
and there was something  
terribly, terribly ironic about that.  
But she had no idea what.

bullets split the skin on her right forearm.

“Shit!”

She didn’t cry out.   
They’d taught her better.  
Merely stared in disjointed interest  
at the rivulets of red running down her shoulder.

Something mechanized   
kicked in in her brain  
when the pain  
-no, hurt-  
began to sear her.

_Repair._

She ripped a strip of fabric  
from the waistband of her pants  
and tied it around her arm.  
Right above the double  
red stars that they’d tattooed her with.  
It was a marker.  
To show who she belonged to.  
To-

_Keep Track._

She closed her eyes  
and listened to the gunshots,  
to the whir of the engines,  
to the muffled shouts.

Four men.  
All on motorcycles.  
All outpacing them.  
  


_Keep Track._   
  


One was accelerating.  
Coming around on her side.  
If she timed it right-

Hemlock snatched the pistol  
from the blonde man’s hand,  
lifting it and firing twice into  
the nearest pursuer’s neck.

_Aim for the arteries._

She shot again,  
hitting another Hydra agent   
in the neck. They were shouting  
to each other now, but she had them  
in her sights. Hemlock narrowed her eyes.

She did not miss.

Three rapid shots and the last two  
went down in a clatter of steel and limbs,  
sprawled on the ground like broken toys.  
She turned and sat back in her chair.  
Placing the gun near the man’s arm.  
He was staring at her in shock.

Human beings shouldn’t   
look at monsters.

She didn’t meet his eyes  
and let him drive them on in silence.

 

**  
  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for short chapter! Anywho, R&R, okay you guys? {For the un-slang savvy, that means 'read and review' ;D}


	3. clarity.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her circuitry was sparking,  
> the wires in her arms-  
> They burnt.  
> They ached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the third chapter of A,R. Sorry it took so long, y'all. Thanks for the kudos and bookmarks!

Her circuitry was sparking,   
the wires in her arms-

They burnt.  
Her skin ached.

The blonde man who she knew-  
but didn’t-  
hadn’t stopped driving.  
He kept casting nervous _looks_    
at her, as if she were a barely restrained…

_Beast._

She wasn’t going to hurt him.  
(She has no orders to)  
But she still couldn’t shake the rust on her vocal cords.  
She didn’t speak unless they wanted her to.  
In order to-

 _Play a role._  
Pierce had said.  
 _You’re a personal assistant to a senator._  
 _Get close to the target and then eliminate him._

__

Her target had screamed that time.  
She hated when they screamed.  
She never felt it until later,  
when they hooked her back up to her bay,  
and her head was empty.  
Then the scream would echo   
round the empty caverns of her heart.  
She was glad those men she’d eliminated  
hadn’t screamed.

The blonde man wheeled them out-  
onto another black road, this one wider,  
and started speeding the car along,  
the engine humming as it got up to speed.

_Highway._  
She remembered the name.  
She reached to see if she could-  
she was so close, she thought  
that she could touch it.  
Instead, red ran in rivulets down her arm,  
and the wound twisted painfully.  
  


Suddenly, clarity hit her.   
  
Something cold and hard and piercing, more painful than any gunshot. A strangled grunt rolled in the back of her throat and her eyes slid shut as she tried to process what was happening. This ache, this sudden shattering of the viel brought with it unfamiliarity. She felt...she felt…  
  
“Fuckin’ hell.”   
  
The only words she could muster to describe what was currently firing through long silent synapses. She’d heard the phrase from Rumlow when he’d sliced his hand on a piece of shattered glass after she’d broken a vase.   
  
“Fuckin’ _hell_.”   
  
she murmured again, a brief dizzy spell overtaking her.   
  
“Shit.” The blonde man who she knew but didn’t know was looking at her with an expressions  he didn’t recognize. She searched her memory for a name and came up empty. Hemlock grunted. She didn’t like not knowing the names of things. The monster ground her teeth together and looked away from her thief. He was causing her confusion. “Listen to me.” He spoke in a voice that wasn’t an order. She looked back at him anyway, hesitantly. “Are you listening?”  
  
She issued a brief nod. He exhaled slowly and turned blue eyes back to the road. They were  
very blue,  
like the sky almost.  
She could see the sky   
in one of her memories,  
a thin sliver between bits of broken rubble.  
No, Margeaux had seen the sky  
....where had Hemlock been?   
Had she slain Margeaux?

...what was Margeaux?

“I need you to come back.” Hemlock blinked once, twice, three times. The thin haze that had managed to settle receded but didn’t disappear. “I need you to listen, okay? I know...I know the things they put in your system make it hard, but I need you to try, okay?” He spoke slowly, softly. It made her feel...what was this heaviness in her eyes? “I can’t take you somewhere to get your arm fixed, so you need to keep pressure on it, okay? We’ll be somewhere safe soon, just keep applying pressure.” Hemlock yawned and blinked slowly.

The heaviness was getting stronger.  
She needed…  
She needed…

“Keep applying pressure, okay?” Hemlock’s eyelids slid shut and she spoke in a hoarse voice through chapped lips:

**  
_“Okay.”_   
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for short chapter! Anywho, R&R, okay you guys? {For the un-slang savvy, that means 'read and review' ;D}


	4. to take nothing and give all in return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she woke,  
> it was dark  
> and for a moment  
> she was very afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know this is a super quick turn around for me, and I usually make y'all wait for a few weeks, but I was really driven to post this chapter. Enjoy! And do leave me some comments, I adore all of them.

When she woke,   
it was dark  
and for a moment,  
she was very afraid.

Then she remembered.

She remembered the blond man  
(Who she knew but did not know)  
She remembered her taking  
(taking, not kidnapping. She was not a person)  
She remembered the non-essentials chasing them.  
She remembered eliminating them  
She remembered pain in her arm.  
Pain in her arm.  
Pain.  
Her arm was stiff.  
Her fingers were coated in a sticky, dry mess.  
The wound was hot to the touch.  
Hemlock let out a hiss.

  
“You’re awake.”  
Hemlock tensed as instincts   
came flooding to the surface:  
Elbow to the throat,   
crush the larynx,  
gouge the eyes,  
break the nose bone,  
shove it into the brain.  
Protect yourself.  
“Can you come back?  
Wake up. It’s alright.”

The mist was shaken   
at that quiet voice.  
It cleared and slid  
back into the recess of her mind.  
She heard a strange sound,   
like a wounded animal  
calling for it’s last hope of help.

She felt the tears run  
down her cheeks and knew  
that it was her.  
She was clutching the  
blonde man’s wrist in a vice grip,  
blunt nails digging into the skin.  
She didn’t let him go.

“I’m gonna go-”

She shook her head.  
He couldn’t leave her.  
Not now.  
Not while she was afraid.  
“You wanna come?”  
She nodded.   
“Alright.” He soothed.  
“Alright.”  
The man she knew but did not know  
unlocked her door and eased himself   
out of her grip. He exited the car  
and for a few terrible moments,   
Hemlock thought he was leaving her anyway.  
He reappeared a second later outside her door   
and moved slowly to open it.   
He reached for her,   
and she recoiled slowly, eyes narrowed,  
trying to focus.

“I need you to come back.   
Just for a little longer, okay?”

Okay?

No...she couldn’t.   
Maybe this was a test…  
a full dive assessment of   
her abilities to function in extreme situations.  
Hemlock recoiled further and snarled at the blonde man.   
He held up his hands and stepped away from her.  
The weapon nudged the door for a moment  
before pushing it fully open.  
She slid out and fell to her knees.  
Her legs were too weak.  
Hemlock pushed, but was unable to move.

“I’m gonna help you, okay?  
I’m gonna have to touch you-  
It won’t be for long though, alright?”

_Alright_.

Hemlock gave a small nod,  
And replied in a voice like cement:

“Okay.”

The blonde man scooped her up,  
and held her like he did when he  
was taking her from her handlers.  
He bore her up a small hill  
and into a house.  
Into a warm house.  
She wasn’t allowed in houses  
until it was time to execute plans.  
He carried her upstairs,  
down a hallway,  
into a bedroom.  
into a bedroom.  
into a bedroom.

and the veil cleared.

He set her down on the bed and began undoing the laces on her boots, sliding each one off and letting it drop to the floor with a heavy clunk. He pulled off her ankle guards and the shin guards fastened over her pants. Hemlock bowed her head and closed her eyes. It was only right, she supposed. He had done her a great service by taking her away from the absolute man, and Rumlow and the non-essentials. She clenched her jaw and slipped off her vest and started popping the buttons of her corset. Hemlock didn’t want to. She wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear and just let him take what he wanted. The ache would be gone by tomorrow morning. The man made a noise in the back of his throat and she rose, pulling him with her, and leaning heavily on him.. Hemlock placed his hands on her hips, her own trembling, and began tugging at his shirt,  trying to pull it over his head. He stopped her.  
  
“No.” She tugged once more, trying to get the garment off of him. “No. You don’t have to do that. You don’t ever have to do that again.” She stared at him for a moment, confused. Why wasn’t he taking it? Was he expecting monetary payment? She had nothing to offer. Pierce never gave her money, or anything worth cash. She owned nothing, not even herself. If she couldn’t pay him, he...she didn’t want him to hurt her. A tear drop hit her chest and she realized she’d been crying the whole time. The man looked at her with one of those expressions she didn’t recognize. “You are gonna have to get stitches…” Hemlock shook her head. The man didn’t question her. “There’s a shower in the next room and a bathtub.” There was an implied order. She nodded and took it. “Get some sleep. I’ll be here if you need anything.” A small spark of panic shot through her. He wasn’t leaving her alone in this place, was he? He must’ve noticed, because he qualified. “I’ll be sitting right here. I won’t leave you here alone, I promise. Everything’s going to be okay.” Hemlock nodded and forced the word out.   
  
  
“...Okay.”

The bathroom was cozy. The tub was large and round, with sleek features and what she figured was a popular design. A sprawling window overlooked a beautiful forest half covered in snow. He’d taken her to the mountains. From the shape of the ranges in the distance, they were likely still in North America. She didn’t care. She was out from under her handlers, and the man hadn’t taken any payment yet, or executed her. All-in-all, she’d had a pretty good day.  Not that she had much to compare it to.  
Most of her days were filled with gun smoke,  
with the screams of men as they died,  
the unrelenting jolts of pain-  
  
Hemlock shook her head. She couldn’t let the fog close in.  She dropped deeper in the water and let the heat soak in to her. It had been a long while since she’d felt any sort of comfort she hadn’t paid for on her back, and this was divine. It was her third round of water. Her first two tub fulls had run red and brown from the dirt on her body. This batch was clear as glass. She rose and stepped out of the tub, trying carefully to avoid gazing in the mirror. She’d never liked what she’d saw. Physical proof that she was a monster. Her clothes hid it well, but there was no hiding now. She risked a glance.  
  
Her skin was the color of cherry wood, offset by gray eyes and an aquiline nose. Her lips were badly chapped, but full, as was to be expected from someone of her heritage. She had a strong neck and broad shoulders, garnered from years of hard combat. Her physique was that common to a hydra-trained assassin: without weakness or deficiency, full of scars, burns and modifications. It was her back that was more interesting. Along the base of her skull ran a silver panel with various outlets for the plugs she’d been hooked up to when she was in her bay. It came up as far as the back corners of her jaw, and had thick screw that kept it hinged to the bone. The metal continued in a thin V down to her tailbone in a sort of makeshift exposed spine. The raised ridge held twenty different sections, all of which allowed her to move and turn freely. They clacked and whirred when she moved, subtlely, but easily heard. How’d she never noticed before? How had she never, not once during her service under Hydra remembered that she was equal parts machine and man.   
  
Pierce had told her once that she wasn’t the first. She’d not been the first monster of the strange Frankensteins who’d abducted her. But she’d been the last before the true asset came along. She’d been a test subject, merely a pet project to see if the conversion process would work. It had. They’d rigged her up like a computer and fed directly into her memories, the drugs they forced on her flowing freely into her bloodstream. Hemlock turned away from the mirror. She hated what they’d done to her. Hated that she looked like a piece of property, hated that she couldn’t go anywhere without being all bundled up, hated that she didn’t look like a human, much less a girl and-  
  
The counter shifted beneath her hands and she realized she’d been gripping to tightly. The surface had cracked under the strain. She stumbled backward, the fog returning her to a more docile state. The anger left as soon as it had come. She reached for the lightswitch and swathed herself in the comforting anonymity of darkness.  Let herself breath. A light tap on the door pulled her from her reverie and the voice of the blonde man came through, muffled, but still close. Still present.   
  
“Hey, I got you something to wear...I wasn’t sure you’d want to sleep in your armor.”   
  
Her armor.   
It lay abandoned on the floor,   
the taught leather-and-iron sheath   
that kept her safe too far from her body.   
She sucked in a shaky breath  
and clenched her fists.

He’d brought her clothes.  
She couldn’t refuse them,  
he might hurt her.   
She didn’t want to hurt,  
she just wanted her armor,  
wanted to be protected,  
safe,   
unused,  
unhurt.

“Are you okay?”  
No.  
No, she was not okay, and suspected she wouldn’t be for a long while.

_Armor._

She couldn’t articulate her need.   
The word clawed at her throat,  
trying to be spoken, but she couldn’t force it.

_-I want…_   
_...I need-_

Stars floated in the unending black  
of her vision, sending her toppling to the floor.  
She curled in on herself  
and willed everything to go quiet.

_My... **mine** …_

__

The door flew open in a flurry of sound, much too loud for her. She curled tighter, the towel doing little to shield her body from the eyes of the man she knew but didn’t know.

_Please don’t look.  
Please don’t._

  
“Oh, God- Oh, Jesus-”  
  


 

The blonde man stood at the door, wreathed in light like an angel. His hair shone and she looked at him with quickly blurring vision, wishing him away, praying him away. She didn’t want him to see the marks and burns in her skin, the metal plating. She didn’t want him to know that she stood on the precipice between man and machine, that she was a monster.   
  
If he was an angel, then the man who stood behind him was surely a demon. No, a devil. No, The Devil. Dark waves of near black hair framed his face, and even from her place on the tile she could see the ice of his eyes. Blue, but piercingly so. The first wave of true fear she’d felt in her memory washed over her closing her throat and causing her heart to skip. This had been a test all along.  
She was going to die.  
She was going to  
She was going  
She was  
She-  
-she-

{{She was g o n e.}}

 

 


	5. the devil has a pretty face.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every alarm in her system was blaring,  
> clamoring a million courses of action at once,  
> none helpful,  
> none fruitful.  
> They’d come to retrieve her  
> and she was going to die.

Every alarm in her system was blaring,  
clamoring a million courses of action at once,  
none helpful,   
none fruitful.   
They’d come to retrieve her   
and she was going to die.

“Everybody out.”

  
The voice was sharp and clear.  
Commanding.  
Feminine.

“Both of you. Go. You’re frightening her.”

“I can help, I just-”

“No, Steve, you really can’t.”  
  


“Natasha-”

“Go, and take Barnes with you.”  
  


Her angel turned and retreated,  
the devil lingering behind him,  
eyes like shards of ice lingering on her.  
  
She wanted to cry.   
  
Her angel and the devil were gone,  
leaving behind…  
All she could make out was a halo  
of red hair and the outline of an angular face.  
  
Her throat closed up.   
The woman flicked the lights off.   
  
Hemlock was swallowed   
by darkness once again,  
and in it, she felt she could  
relax, if only slightly.

“That’s better, isn’t it?”  
  


She didn’t answer.  
She didn’t know how.

“A-”  
Her voice was rough.  
Nothing like the smooth,  
rich, cream of Natasha’s.  
Natasha’s.  
Natasha.  
Natasha Romanoff AKA Natalia Alianovna Romanova AKA The Black Widow Agent of SHIELD Target Target Target TargetTargetTargettargettargettargettargettarget-  
  
She swallowed down   
the alarms blaring in her mind.  
  
“My A-armor.”

  
Natasha handed her back   
her armor wordlessly.  
She sat up slowly and   
clutched it to her chest.  
She didn’t thank her.

They sat in silence as   
she bound herself back together,  
imagining the fastenings and   
straps on her corset would  
hold

her

together.   
  
They never did.  
She closed grey eyes,  
and sought clarity  
while Natasha watched on  
in silence.  
  
It came to her  
slowly  
this time, but she knew she could  
force   
it. It just took focus, and unrelenting dedication to breaking through.   
There.  
She had it.  
  
Hemlock exhaled and dropped her forehead to her knees. These bouts of sanity were becoming easier to grasp at with each episode. If she could remain calm, perhaps they wouldn’t be as fleeting.  
  
“You know who I am.” Natasha spoke again, her voice still smooth, even though Hemlock knew she’d seen the implants on her back, knew that she was a monster, probably knew that her every instinct was screaming at her to end the Spider’s life right then. She responded with a simple,

  
She didn’t want to speak to her. Where was the blonde man? Her rescuer? Where had he gone? Why wasn’t he here? Perhaps he was prepping the Asset, the devil with a pretty face, to kill her. The answer died in her throat and she pulled her knees to her chest. The WIdow said nothing. Hydra’s intel on the red-haired assassin was anything but limited, and Hemlock’s handlers had trained her to be as close to a replacement for the Black Widow as possible. She’d been sold out to the KGB many times for her skills. She was an asset Pierce had constantly reminded her, and a funder. Her job was to get paid so Hydra could continue to function at top capacity.   
  
They’d made her guard men. Terrible men with dark hearts and blood in their teeth. They’d made her protect them even as they murdered families, even as they harmed children.  
  
Even as they forced her to remove her armor.   
  
Lithe fingers ghosted over the leather-and-metal sheath, assuring herself that it was still in place.  
  
“Do you know who you are?”  
  
She hadn’t been expecting that question. Natasha had changed tactics. A thousand false names shuffled through her mind, a thousand fake IDs, jobs, relationships to wade through. Too many for one mind to handle, even a mind that was more machine than woman. Who was she? Twenty-odd years of life, and she stil didn’t know. She had a birthday coming up in august, and she’d be practically a woman by then and-  
  
No, Hemlock had no birthday. These odd thoughts were not her own, merely left over information from a mission her handlers had forgotten to clear. She convinced herself.   
  
“Do you know your name?” She closed her mouth and forced herself to swallow. This question was easier, but she was not allowed to answer the truth, not when she’d been given no parameters for this mission to follow. She still wasn’t even sure if this was a mission. The Asset was here, so it had to be.   
The Asset, with eyes like knives tearing into her.   
With hands she’d seen murder dozens.  
A wolf, if she’d ever seen one.   
  
And he was here.   
Here for her, she knew it.  
  
“Do you know who the man with the black hair is?”   
  
Hemlock’s heart was clawing at the inside of her chest, hammering away at her ribcage. Natasha was trying to siphon information from her, trying to learn as much as she could so that she could use it against her. Fear was making her tongue thick and her lips lead. She couldn’t talk. Everything in her head was screaming, impossibly loud. False stars flashed before her eyes and for a terrible moment, she thought she was going to vomit.   
  
  
“Natasha, that’s enough.” Her angel. She coudn’t see him, but she could hear him, just outside the door, his voice muffled through the wood. Her interrogation was over for now.   
And she’d failed. All of her training, all of the times someone had hurt her for information, and she’d never spoken. This time, she’d shown apprehension. She’d failed. Pierce and Rumlow would both be ashamed. Hemlock hung her head, even as the Black Widow slid through a narrow opening in the door.   
  
She heard the man she knew and did not know conversing outside the door.   
She pulled a dry towel from the side of the tub, pulled it over her shoulders and tried to quiet her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! I'm gonna try to get this story to pick up soon, and have more action. Right now, though, the main goal is just getting Hemlock to understand that she's not going to be executed.


	6. interlude I: respite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short update for now. When my muse is low, I'm gonna be posting this little snippets I like to call interludes.

When she’d managed to come out of the bathroom, the first traces of dawn had been appearing in the sky outside of her window. Edges of deep blue began showing at the edge of the blanket of night, bright stars dimming and shining down-  
  
shining down  
down  
 _down_

  
_“...down, Hemlock!_   
_Jesus, fuckin’ Christ,_   
_can’t you do anything right?_   
_Stop poppin’ out_   
_like a goddamn groundhog.”_   
  


_“Yes, Sir._   
_I apologize.”_

  
Heavy hands  
and kisses that tasted of ash  
and war  
and liquor.

_“Stop apologizin’_   
_all the damn time.”_

_“Yes, Sir._   
_I apologize.”_

__

She remembered him sometimes.  
He existed in the cracks  
that her handlers hadn’t quite managed  
to _fill up_.  
It was just his voice, though.  
His voice and his hands  
that never grabbed,  
and pulled,  
and pawed  
like others.   
They’d been big hands,   
but they hadn’t hurt her,  
when he’d come to her.  
He’d never hurt her,  
when they let him come.

She just hadn’t understood  
why he’d kissed her.  
None of the others who came

-overandoverandoverandover-

ever did that.  
  


There were stars outside the window.  
The sun was coming up.  
  
Hemlock pulled her thoughts around her and wrapped them tightly, half afraid they would fly off again if she let go.She was tired, more tired than she could ever remember being, and there was bed available, but she couldn’t...she couldn’t use it just yet. For as long as she could remember, beds had not been for sleeping. They’d been places where over and over again, she’d been used up and forgotten. She would not sleep on the bed just yet, wouldn’t even sit on it. She lowered herself to the floor, slowly, gently, as if at any moment alarms would start blaring and a man with a needle   
  
would come  
and shoot fire up her veins.  
She hated when they shot fire up her-  
  
She shook her head and let her nails bite into her palm. Focus. Focus was...

was...  
was…  
  
coming up.

  
The sun was coming up.

  
  
Unnaturally grey eyes slid slowly to watch the great golden ball rise slowly from between the mountain peaks and cast light over the house.   
  
The sun had come up.   
  
The sun had come up,  
and no one was dead,  
and that made her…

  
  
it made her not afraid.

  
  
Hemlock closed her eyes and fell asleep without help.  
 **  
  
  
  
  
**


	7. relapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She woke up screaming.

She woke up screaming.

She woke up screaming  
and crying  
and with her hands wrapped  
around the blonde man's throat.

She was screeching at him  
in french  
in russian  
in german  
in mandarin  
in any language  
in every language she could remember  
for him to tell her what he knew.

She wanted to let go of him,  
she wanted to release him  
and have everything go back  
to being quiet and dark,  
but she couldn't force  
her fingers to unlock.

 She was hurting him.

She was murdering her angel  
and he was going to let her.

She FELT the dark soldier   
before she saw him,   
sensed his presence  
in the way the hairs  
on the back of her neck   
stood up right before  
he touched her.   
  
An arm wrapped around  
her midsection   
and hauled her backward.  
She heard her savior gasp   
and sputter as air flooded  
his lungs moments before  
it was slammed out of hers.

AND THERE HE WAS,

  
eyes like ice chips   
boring into her own.   
Fear made her heart skip a beat   
and with an animalistic roar,   
she attacked him.

  
She rammed her feet   
up into his stomach   
and sent him backwards,   
she clawed at him like an animal,   
all her training gone.

  
She was afraid   
and confused   
and her head ached.

The asset threw his arm  
in front of his face  
and let her tear her nails out,  
let her claw   
and screech   
and rage at him   
until she was too exhausted  
to hold herself.   
She hadn't used her training,  
hadn't used the decades of skills  
she'd been given.   
She'd been animalistic,   
fear making her wild.

Her handler would not have been proud.   
He would’ve been very angry,  
very, very angry  
very-

Her world tilted  
and drew rapidly closer.   
Her head hit the floor   
with a dull thunk  
and only then

  
did she realize

  
she'd been

F A L L I N G.

**  
  
  
**

When she woke up,   
the sun was gone   
and her hands ached.  
  


She was lying on something soft.   
They’d put her in a bed.

  
Her throat constricted.

  
_They’d put her in a bed._

**  
  
**

She knew she should’ve   
expected punishment.  
After what she’d done,  
it was only right.  
 It was only right.  
It was only right.  
It was only right.  
It was only right.

for them to punish her

over and over and over and over  
and over and over and over  
and over and over and  
over and over and  
over and over  
and over  
and

she wanted to run.  
she wanted to go back  
at least her handler was honest  
at least he didn’t promise her safety.

There was a window to her right,  
gleaming and clear and taller than her.  
She could break it.   
she knew she could,  
but she’d have to get out of bed.

  
Out of bed.  
The breaking of an unspoken rule.

They’d punish her with pain,  
but she was not afraid of pain.  
They’d taught her how to

_“Box it up.”_

Rumlow had said.  
Her handler had said.   
Holding her chin  
as blood the color  
of the stars on her arms  
dripped down her lips.  
Her nose was broken.  
She was cold  
and they’d hurt her again  
and taken her armor  
and her nose was broken.

_“Box it up._   
_Put it in the back of your mind_   
_and deal with it later.”_

__

_“Yes, sir.”  
_ Yes, sir.

She’d boxed up he bruises  
and the beatings  
and the burning  
and the cuts  
and the wounds  
and when they hurt her  
over and over.   
It was in a box  
and she would not touch it.  
She’d let it gather dust  
and turn to rot,  
but she would not touch it.

She let her feet brush the floor,  
waiting for the pain to come,   
waiting for Pierce to come in   
looking

__

_“-so very disappointed in you, Hemlock._   
_We’ve given you everything, and this_   
_is how you repay our generosity?_   
_I’m very disappointed,”_

__

_“I’m sorry, Mr. Pierce.”_   
  


_“That’s not a very convincing apology.”_

She apologized to him,  
over and over and over.

But the pain didn’t come.  
Didn’t make her bite down   
and swallow it whole.  
Nothing happened except  
a brief creak of the floorboards.  
She padded to the window. 

  
Two stories high and   
straight down into snow.  
She could make that jump.  
She didn’t feel the cold.  
But she was afraid of heights

No, _Margeaux_ was afraid of heights

No, _Margeaux_ didn’t _exist._

She’d SWALLOWED her  
and CRAWLED into her skin.  
Margeaux didn’t exist.   
Just like James Barnes didn’t-

Who was James Barnes?

She balled her hand into a fist,  
and braced herself for the prick  
of glass breaking against her knuckles.  
  
She barely flinched,   
barely registered the pinch.  
She boxed it up neatly and   
slipped out of the window,  
into the snow,   
and into the dark. 

  
She was gone.

**  
  
**


	8. AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hey, guys!   
  
So, sorry the newest chapter has been so long in coming, but after the end of part one, I wasn't quite sure where to take it.   
  
I think I have a solid place now, and I'm working on it and it should be up some time next week, so get hype! A,R is coming back in all of it's OC, AU, Ex-Hydra agent glory.   
  
If you guys wanna prompt me, or see more things with this character, please, PLEASE do so. Also, I'll be updating 'ink my skin with your name' daily, so if you're ever bored between updates, feel free to go there.   
  
Thank you, and see you all soon!|  
  
  



	9. AUTHOR'S NOTE (19 May 2016)

Hello, everyone!   
  
I realize at this point in time that this is one of my least popular fics, but after getting halfway through Civil War and realizing that Margeaux is essentially canon, I've decided to do a massive overhaul of this fic. Prior to today it had no direction and little purpose other than an exhibition of my OC and shipping. My writing has come a long way since I began writing this fic and I want that to show in the work I host here. So, to all of you who enjoyed A,R as it was, thank you for keeping me going and I'm sorry that I abandoned you, but you can expect better from me in the future.

-Odysseus, 19.05.16


End file.
